Appointment Surfing
It was onshore now, too big and the negative neap tide left very little room for wave riding. This was my reality, having missed “the window” that morning, when wind, tide, swell and location combined for surf dude glory. My afternoon surf slot was not ideal, but it was in fact, a slot. So I paddled out.
During my recent family trip to New York, I stood at the epic Pier 26 playground in Tribeca, chasing my daughter through the belly of a giant sturgeon while a local dad asked me how often I got to surf. Between wiping Agnes’ nose and making sure her beanie stayed on in the 39 degree wind, I said, “Well, every day, kinda. That’s the plan.”
He was amazed, couldn’t fathom it. “I’m lucky to spend 30 minutes at the gym inside my building.”
Yes, it was clear we lived different lifestyles. What he didn’t know was that my surf window is often small, and at inopportune times. Humble lessons on the reality of being a toddler dad who surfs.
Like this week, I got the dregs of the swell of the winter (so far). The brass monkey waves of the afternoon no one wanted. Drained out and borderline unrideable. But I got them nonetheless. I drove home happy, shaking the salt from my hair inside the car making sure I left sand flakes on the passenger seat. An ocean spray reminder that I did it. I surfed.
Earlier this week I had the pleasure of doing an Inherent Bummer conversation with a surf legend, a name that’s been imprinted in my brain since I saw The Endless Summer II at Pierside Pavilion in 1994 with my dad and watched Kelly Slater stand inside a man-made wall of water, a surfer synonymous with wave pools, inventor of the Flow Rider, founder of Surf Loch, Mr. Tom Lochtefeld.
Tom was well aware and well-versed on my skepticism for wave pools and the conversation was nothing but a delight. And enlightening. The whole interview will come out next week, but there was one thing he said that made me temporarily question my stance on pools.
Our conversation was drifting in and out of the merits of pools, and I had just shuddered thinking about country club golf resort style surf parks. But he made a great point, my lackluster surf this week still fresh in my mind.
“As you know I read your column,” he said. “I know you’re getting older. You have a family now and the problem is you get obligations, and then your time gets limited in terms of your bandwidth and availability to surf, right? So you need to schedule when you can or can’t go surfing. It’s not always great. That’s that Country Club mentality.”
He makes a good point. If I had the means, wouldn’t it be nice to know that my surf window was productive? What if the waves were always there waiting for me? Like that dude at the sturgeon fish, his gym is always ready when he is — what if we could do that for the waves? Wouldn’t that be great? Perfect conditions waiting for dad whenever he gets a window. I get my quality, allotted wave count and drive away chlorinated and happy.
The disappointment I felt standing there at the beach this week during my surf window, knowing I missed it by a few hours, was palpable. It threatened my mood — intensified by the same super moon draining the tide.
But by the time I got in my wetsuit and made the walk down to the water and strapped my leash on and paddled out, the waves didn’t really matter. By definition I was surfing. Pulling up to your appointment at a wave park will probably never be this shitty but it will also never be surfing.—Travis Ferré
